Epitaph to Innocence
by Sunshine170
Summary: In the graveyard of memories of the past and dreams for the future, he mourns the loss of his four year old's innocence, of her unburdened conscience, of her bliss and her happiness and her freedom from the knowledge of pain.


Every time he sees that thing in her hands, he suppresses a violent urge to retch, disgust and despair enveloping him in a brutal twin agony.

This is not the world Peter had wanted to wake up to… one in which he had to see his daughter holding a gun.

Little hands that had once sought his to be able to cross the street now clutch a weapon with an easy, almost natural flair.

The way she loads and assembles it with skill and precision… like a trained assassin.

He wonders if she has killed anybody with it, watched somebody die…

It sickens him beyond rational thought to know how real the possibility of that was...which is why he never asks.

It's more than just the loss of childhood that tears at him to watch her like this, watch what she has become, what this world has turned his child into.

It's the loss of everything…

In the graveyard of memories of the past and dreams for the future, he mourns the loss of his four year old's innocence, of her unburdened conscience, of her bliss and her happiness and her freedom from the knowledge of pain.

It's not that he's not proud because_ God_… he couldn't be prouder. She's brave and smart and strong and absolutely everything he knew she would be and more.

She's so beautiful; he could never get enough of looking at her, so self-assured and confident in every way.

And he's beyond gratified to be able to do that. To see her and talk to her and hold her in his arms once again, no matter how dire the circumstances that surround their reunion.

She's as giving with her affections as she had always been, her bottomless blue eyes twinkling with that same mischief that this world has thankfully not stolen, as she sits cross-legged in front of him and chatters nonstop about everything like she used to.

The nature of her stories has changed drastically though.

The path she's chosen, noble as it is (and deep down he knows really shouldn't have expected anything else from her), is one he had never intended for her to walk…. the one of constant mortal peril that demands incessant sacrifice of hope, of innocence, of faith at every turn.

That takes pieces out of you without asking and never gives anything back.

That leaves you a hollow shell before you even realize what has happened.

He should know… he's walked that path and lost everything that meant something to him.

In a clichéd trope of fatherly wisdom, even as physically the years that separate them are not all that many, he wants to sit her down and tell her that fighting the good fight causes more than the obvious collateral damage of just physical hurt and loss of life.

That you rack up a far worse body count of lost love, of shattered dreams, of having to watch loved ones live through unimaginable agony, of having to take someone else's life to save your own, of having to deal with the inevitable guilt of doing something like that.

After all, in that bitter battle against forces so much larger than him… she is the worst casualty he has ever suffered.

* * *

_Every relationship is reciprocal, Peter. When you touch something, it touches you._

She had been his angel… the sole untainted perfection of his checkered life.

This world has touched her, violated her innocence, and changed her into something else. Made her a warrior, made her capable of calculated violence and possibly death.

Made her capable of holding a gun to a man's face with every intention to kill.

There are times, when he feels like wrenching that piece of black metal from her grip and throwing it away.

He wants to tell her…order her to stop, because really she could stop fighting now. He was here to do it for her, that she needn't ever have blood on her hands again.

But the unspeakable cruelty of it all was he didn't have the right to be her parent anymore. He couldn't tell her to do anything.

He remembers his mother, the one who had given birth to him, standing in that pristine kitchen so many years ago… flustered, unsure of everything, asking him if he still liked bacon.

He understands now, what it's like to be on the sidelines of your own child's life, robbed of the right to be there for her, of knowing her.

It was twenty years too late to resume that role he had played in his daughter's life once. But like riding a bicycle, the tendencies are not forgotten, written into his instincts as they are since the day she was born.

He has seen the various battle scars etched on her alabaster skin, is educated enough on the nature of violence to recognize the signs of assault, of self-defense….of torture.

He's spent years tending the similar wounds of another… but he still feels like he's been kicked in the gut and had a knife plunged through him when he sees the puncture mark of a bullet wound on her shoulder.

He reaches his hand out for hers before she can slip her bomber back on, catching her by surprise as she looks at him in question. Running his fingers over the fading abrasion, he feels the worst kind of shame and an anger that would burn this entire world if someone would just hand him a bloody match.

"Who did this to you?" He asks, his voice hollow, devoid of any emotion so unlike how he feels inside.

_You did this to her... you left her in this place by herself. _ His conscience beats against his chest painfully.

"It's nothing… the bullet just grazed through the skin." She shrugs and tries to free her arm but he holds on.

"Who did this to you?" He repeats the question like he hadn't heard her dismissive words.

"It was a loyalist, I don't know his name. There was a situation and lots of guns being fired and a bomb went off and too much was happening… it's really nothing dad." She tells him a little more forcefully. "Didn't even hurt all that much. You should have seen the other guys." She gives him a smile, shrugging again, but her eyes lose the blue sparkle when she sees his impassive face, clearly not amused.

"What's wrong?" She asks, taking his hand in hers.

"Everything…" He shakes his head, not sure who he's even mad at anymore. "Everything is just so damn wrong… Nothing's right. You weren't supposed to turn out this way."

He lets go of her hand and walks away not noticing how her face deflates at his words.

* * *

He probably shouldn't be on a terrace where he can be spotted so easily but he doesn't care right now.

He sits on the wall, taking in the sight of the urban decay in front of him which looks all the more dystopic and foreboding in the nighttime.

Like something straight out of Blade Runner... he thinks.

A work of fiction then….a reality now. Maybe Ridley Scott was an observer, he thinks darkly.

The city he had grown up in, his first and last home, now lies in ruins, nothing left of its former glory, of its rich heritage and history.

Steel and glass structures still stand in between the pockets of deterioration, sterile and greying, a pitiable substitute for what once defined Boston, made it vibrant and colorful.

The city has lost its soul and yet it pretends shamelessly…pretends to be something worthy of habitation, worthy of redemption. Preys on the young and the brave, asking to be saved, adding to its tally of countless martyrs.

Everything that was beautiful and alive is now dead and ugly; a rot has set into the very foundation of this world, right to the molten centre of the planet.

The idea of a resistance, the one that his daughter talks about with such passion… to fight to save something so damaged and corrupted is laughable.

Why would anybody sacrifice their youth, their vitality and their life at the altar of such a lost and unworthy cause?

_Do as I say and not as I do_….that age old maxim of parenting hypocrisy comes to his mind.

_Goddammit, why did she have to be so much like the two of them?_

Why couldn't she have been more selfish and simply lived a normal life, had a safe job, made a good deal of money, maybe found herself a nice boyfriend, the kind of life Olivia and him had tried so hard to make sure she would have. The kind of lives that some people still seemed to have in this miserable place.

The ones who had offered up their cowardice and subservience as a tribute in return for the preservation of their white collar comforts. The docile masses that had learnt to live without freewill and personal liberties and find some semblance of normal.

But no… his daughter simply had to go against the grain, had to be defiant and dissatisfied with that soulless compromise. Had to take the difficult and dangerous road.

Had to trade the paper roses for the ones with thorns that pricked and wounded.

The whole thing had Dunham written on it with a capital D.

So here she was in a fucking safe house living in exile, doing reconnaissance and hashing strategies, eating their scarce supply of ramen out of lukewarm plastic cups and conducting shady black market deals for weapons and tech with unscrupulous men like a seasoned con artist, poker face and all, shrugging off bullet wounds and being in explosions like it was nothing.

What kind of a life was this for a twenty four year old girl to have?

_Talk about fucking repeating patterns_… he thinks to himself humorlessly, knowing what he was doing at her age was not all that different.

Except his reasons had been driven by self-interest and greed. Hers were to do with trying to change the world for the better.

He had to have the kid who wants to bring world peace…..

It would be endearing if there wasn't something so tragically comic about it.

Tomorrow at daybreak, they would go for Olivia and he doesn't know if he can face her knowing what he knows when he breaks her out that amber. To have her see what has become of the hopes and dreams they had nurtured with so much enthusiasm for their brilliant and talented child, whose potential had been boundless, the only limit to it being their own imagination.

A lifetime ago when this world was still worth living and dreaming in…

* * *

_"Did you know what your daughter did today? She managed to scam the babysitter into moving the TV into the nursery because of the entire electromagnetic activity surge' in the living room." _

_"Does she even know what that means?" _

_ "No but she obviously heard it from you. Etta convinced her it'll give her cancer if she didn't move it up to her room. All so that she could watch Dora the Explorer sitting in her bed. The poor girl was so scared she carried the flat screen all the way upstairs Peter."_

_"Well if she's stupid enough to fall for that… I have trouble feeling bad for her." _

_"That's not the point. She's four years old Peter. She shouldn't be terrorizing high schoolers with made up science gibberish. Doesn't that worry you?" _

_"I look at it positively. She'll either win a Nobel prize or make it to the Interpol watch list… whichever way she'll live up to the family name." _

She had shoved him off the bed for that remark… telling him it was only a matter of time before that deviant streak of sarcasm and penchant for trouble began to show as well.

Other little girls had wanted toy ponies and princess gowns.

Etta had asked for her own pair of safety goggles and lab coat and would tell anyone who cared to listen with stunning accuracy, what a mass spectrometer did.

_ "Astrid look, I am going to be just like daddy and grandpa when I grow up."_ She would tell her proudly showing off her own little invention serving mysterious purposes that she would put together with random pieces of loose machinery that she would steal from his desk.

* * *

It would break his wife's heart to see how wrong they had been about everything…. he can't help thinking, absently reaching for his ring finger, forgetting for the nth time that he didn't have his wedding ring on.

He misses the comfort it gave him, the way the heat of the metal against his skin would keep him tethered. More than anything he misses Olivia.

Suddenly he feels so tired… ancient like he would have been had he aged the way he was supposed to. He brings his hand to rub his eye.

"God Liv, we really screwed up with her." He says aloud, his frustrations getting the better of him.

"Is that what you really think?" A soft voice asks from behind him and he realizes he's not alone.

She's standing behind him, her hands in her jacket… looking at him with contemplation and a strange sadness. "You think I am a screw-up?"

"God…no. That's not…" He swears under his breath, feeling worse than he already does if it were even possible and shakes his head, not able to look her in the eye. "That's not possible, believe me. I could never think you were anything but perfect."

"Then why are you so mad at me?" She asks him, a note of anguish lacing her question that makes him cringe.

"I am not mad at you Etta." He tells her, still not meeting her gaze.

_I am mad at this world for what it did to you._

"Yes you are. You can't even look at me." She says more forcefully.

"Honey… I can't do this with you right now please." He almost begs. "You should get some rest…"

"No." She says stubbornly. "Tell me what's so wrong. What could have I possibly done in 24 hours that has you so disappointed in me?"

"I am not disappointed in you." He says vehemently turning around to face her because he simply couldn't let her believe that.

"I thought you were good at bluffing." She says looking at him entirely unconvinced.

"I am…or at least I was." He laughs, shaking his head and then looks at her again. "Sweetheart, I am not disappointed in you. I am just…. disappointed that's all..." He motions to her wordlessly and even though the expression on her face is stills stormy, she moves closer to sit next to him.

"Do you know what most people your age did twenty years ago?" He asks her not really looking for an answer. "They had fulfilling careers and relationships and spent their free time doing things like shopping or going on a run, or gossiping with their friends over Mocha Frappuccinos and fat free muffins."

"What are Frappuccinos?" She asks him puzzled.

"Sorry. I forgot there's no real coffee anymore… anyway you know what they didn't spend their time doing? Searching for their parents and getting into dangerous situations because of that." He says sadly.

"I go running sometimes." She gives him a small smile, shrugging. "Especially after curfew."

"I don't mean the running for your life kind." He chuckles, unable to fight the smile despite everything. "You know your mother was always concerned you'd inherit my tendency to abuse sarcasm. I guess her fears were entirely founded huh?"

"I guess." She nods imperceptibly.

"My point is…." He presses on, not sure how he could say this without hurting her unintentionally. "We wanted so much for you. So much more than this." He waves his hand in the general direction of the city all round them.

"You deserved better. You still do. You deserve to be happy; you deserve to live… not simply survive. Not be burdened with a fight where the odds are always going to be against you. I never wanted this life for you. In fact, I told myself I would do everything in my power to keep you from going down this road."

He looks at his hands. "Believe me sweetheart, you're not the one I am disappointed in… because you managed to become so exceptional despite everything." He says, hoping she will read the pride in his voice. "I am just disappointed in myself, because I couldn't save you from this fate."

She doesn't say anything for a moment but takes his hands in hers, squeezing them gently. They're still small when held against his.

"You know…. all my life, all I ever wanted was to be like you and mom. Not because everybody thought you were heroes or because there were all these legends about the things the original Fringe team had done, but because you were my mom and dad and I wanted to be just like you…. even before I knew any of that. " She says and he can see the pride in her eyes.

Pride that he doesn't deserve…

"And I knew that the one thing… the only meaningful thing I wanted to do with my life was to find you, because I knew whatever happiness means or is supposed to mean… I wouldn't find it without finding the two of you."

"Etta…"

"It made me the person I am." She doesn't let him interrupt. "So I don't know if that disappoints you for whatever reasons, or makes you think I wasted my life or makes you feel like I should have lived differently, but I don't regret it, not even a little bit. Because I have you now and I'll have mom soon and we'll be a family again and when we have that.. everything will be better. I just know it." Her eyes are faraway now, almost wistful.

Suddenly she doesn't look like the tough soldier this world has force her into becoming... or the angel from his memories.

She looks utterly human... utterly in need of reassurance.

"You're really something else kid… you know that." He says, pulling her close into his embrace, willing his heart to not constrict so tightly with the pain of it all. "I must have done something right to have made something so great."

He kisses her on the forehead. "You make me so proud sweetheart. I didn't think I could I be this proud… and your mom will tell you just how conceited I can get at times."

She laughs, trying to blink away the moisture welling up in her eyes. She doesn't cry though, she never did really cry all that much, even as a child, Peter realizes. "I've missed this you know …. Talking to you about stuff."

"I've missed listening…." He tells her understanding exactly what she meant. "I've missed you…" He says gently.

"It must be weird for you… seeing me like this, all grown up." She says knowingly.

He laughs nodding his head. "For normal people it probably would be, but you know of all the many weird things I have seen… and I know you've been living in this cyberpunk nightmare for a long time, but I have seen way crazier…trust me…. seeing your daughter as an adult is not the weirdest experience. In fact it's beautiful really. You're so put together and poised…. just like your mother."

"Well, you missed my angry teen rebel without a cause years, so I bet you think that." She jokes. "Do you know I once punched a loyalist in the face, gave him a bloody nose, and almost got arrested?"

"That's my girl." He grins, truly feeling lighter than he had a while ago. "Now I am really proud. You're not a true Bishop unless you've courted the wrong side of the law at least once."

"I also hacked into federal mainframes….for fun." She tells him with a smirk.

"Stop it honey or you're going to make me cry with joy." He tells her dryly patting her knee. "Don't tell your mother any of this though… she was really scared you'd have criminal inclinations. I don't think she'll find your escapades amusing at all."

"We'll find out tomorrow won't we?" She asks happily, eyes shining with anticipation at the prospect of that.

"Yeah I guess we will…" He smiles back at her.

If he can make this world just a little bit better for her, give her one more reason to smile, one more source of happiness…

Maybe the good fight was worth fighting after all.


End file.
